


Glimpses of Motherhood

by arnbrosia



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Motherhood, idk what else to tag this?, parenthood as a whole, the whole theme is moms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-09-26 16:09:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20392450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arnbrosia/pseuds/arnbrosia
Summary: “You are not a warrior, not a hero, we both know that. You are a protector. Protect her.”Ophelia Brokensha, the daughter of an often forgotten minor goddess, had managed to go undetected in the world of gods and monsters. Well, until her teenage summer love turned into a pregnancy. Shown to her by her mother, Ophelia learned the fate of her daughter. Then she came face to face with Percy Jackson, and she knew she would have to accept the Big Bad that was waiting in her daughter's inevitable future.





	1. The First Glimpse

**Author's Note:**

> anyway this is a self-indulgent oc fic. idk how canon-compliant this will be but have it. enjoy my trash child and her witty toddler. i! just! have! so! much! to! say! about! her!

_ **First Glimpse - Percy** _

The first time Percy Jackson met Ophelia Brokensha, it was at a birthday party for one of Estelle’s preschool friends. The place is a kind of soft play gymnasium: it was too colorful and loud and smelled like feet. The kids were all over the place, bounding between the party room and the play area. Party hats and empty water bottles were scattered among the screaming, sweaty children. He was miserable, to say the least. Estelle, on the other hand, was having the time of her life.

“Look, Perce!” She said, waving at him. There was a neon green half wall, lined with cubbies, separating the lobby and the play area. He watched her from behind it. 

He gave her two thumbs up and a big grin. She climbed up a small rock wall, maybe five feet into the air. It led to a bright yellow slide that ran into an inflatable kiddie pool full of soft, squishy balls. He clapped for her. They both beamed at each other. 

He watched her scramble around, jumping from one piece of squishy equipment to another. Finally, she whined for him to come into the play area with her.

“Come play!” She begged. 

“Come on ‘Stelle,” He sighed. This was not his favorite way to spend a Saturday afternoon. He loved the quality time with his baby sister, but anywhere other than here would have been better. 

She scowled and waved him over again.

He gave in. He usually does. He took off his sneakers and tucked them into one of the cubbies lining the half wall. As he placed them, he got a whiff of feet again. Cool. 

Estelle squealed in delight as her brother chased her around the gym. She climbed up and over the squishy gym equipment and surfed along over a rainbow-colored dome, turned upside down. It rocked and Percy spun her around on it. 

“Stop!” Estelle laughed. “I’m getting dizzy!”

He does stop, but only so he could tip the rocking dome over and send Estelle barreling down the side, onto the purple foam-cushioned floor. 

Finally, the blaring children’s music in the gym was paused. Percy’s ears continued ring, though. The crowd and children froze. There was a girl standing at the front of the gym. Her back was still turned, fiddling with the music player. She turned and smiled at the gym full of people.

“Please, come join the birthday girl in the party room for pizza and cake!” She said, her chirpy voice ringing throughout the gym.

The stampede started then. The guest poured out of the gym, filing into the party room. The girl was at the door, dispensing hand sanitizer. She was polite and poised, she smiled the whole time, but didn’t really look anyone directly in the eyes, she kept her head down. Percy decided it was a fake smile. Her boss probably made her do it at all times. She milled around the party room, handing out water bottles and juices. She made light, cheerful conversation with the adults and children. 

Estelle sat at the little kids' table. The table was draped in a purple table cloth, a balloon bouquet as the centerpiece. Estelle tried to grab one of the balloons.

“Estelle,” Percy chided and shot her a warning glance. 

“A water, sir?” 

Percy looked up and he was face to face with her, the worker. She was younger than him, sixteen or seventeen. Her eyes were dark blue, only a shade or two away from being mistaken as black. She was freckled and tall, maybe even taller than Annabeth. Her shoulders were broad and he could see the big space between her two front teeth. She had shoulder length dark hair, not quite black. It was pulled back in a polka dot scrunchy, a few stray baby hairs frayed around her face. 

He only had one second to acknowledge her before things got-- _ weird _. 

“Uh, sure--” 

Her eyes grew wide, and her face reddened. She looked as though she’d seen a ghost. She looked… scared? The girl dropped the water bottle she had been holding out to him. Her hands shook, and her eyes darted between his. Even though she was looking at him, her eyes were glassy, hazy, she was far away. He felt like he was missing something.

Percy rose a brow. Now his defenses were on. Monster? Demigod? Goddess? Instinct led his hand to find Riptide in his pocket. She was frozen, horror slapped across her face. 

She snapped back just as quick. She swallowed, squeezing her eyes shut. “I’m so sorry.” She said, her voice was hoarse and broke as she spoke. Crouching down to pick the water bottle up, she said, “I’ll get you another.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He beat her to it and picked up the water bottle. He opened the cap and sipped from it. 

The girl still looked spooked. Percy looked at the name tag on her uniform shirt. The letters did not blur together or dance around. _ Ophelia _, it read.

She ushered back to the cooler and grabbed more water bottles.

Percy decided to make a mental note to tell Chiron about the girl, maybe send a satyr after her. Definitely a half-blood. She had seen something. Or someone had _ shown _ her something. Or she knew something. Or had been told something. Who knew. Now, though, he was spending the afternoon with his baby sister in the most godforsaken place. He just prayed that with the presence of two half-bloods in the same building, the party could survive the last 45 minutes. 

The party did, luckily, survive. He didn’t linger. Ophelia didn't acknowledge him again, if anything she avoided him at all costs. She helped the other guests out and thanked them all. Not him though, just Estelle. She gave Estelle a kind smile and handed her a goodie bag. She thanked her for coming.

“It was the most fun ever!” Estelle grinned, unwrapping a lollipop from the bag.

Percy ruffled his sister’s hair. “Thanks,” He tried to say to the girl, but she’d already moved onto another group of guests. 

Estelle relayed every detail of the party to Sally and Paul, the lollipop balanced on her tongue. “And the slide was huge, mommy! I went down and I wasn’t scared at all.”

Sally laughed at her sweet daughter. “Did you have fun, Percy?” She asked.

“Smelled like feet.” He decided not to bring up the weird moment with the party host. 

* * *

The second time he meets Ophelia, he’s picking Estelle up from preschool. It was a bright sunshine yellow building, with a mural of flowers and vines painted across the cement brick exterior. He had the check tucked into his back pocket. The main playground was out front, and the kids weren’t out for the afternoon yet, he was early. He decided to make the detour to the director’s office before picking her up. The office was small, just one woman, the director, behind the main desk. There was a chime on the door, it sang out as he opened the door. 

Percy saw there was someone standing opposite of the director’s desk. A girl, with her dark hair pulled back in a polka dot scrunchy. She turned when the chime rang out. He faced her again. She was in her work shirt, the gymnasium’s dog mascot smiling way too happily on the front. She has a new accessory: _ a kid _. Perched on her hip was a little girl, less than two. She was freckled and wild haired, like her mother. She looked just like her. They had the same round soft features, rosy chubby cheeks, but a strong square jaw. The only thing that kept them from looking like twins were the eyes, Ophelia’s were dark, but her daughter’s were bright. Shockingly bright, crystal blue, the color of beaches in brochures. 

A moment of understanding flashed between them as they saw each other. 

Ophelia’s grip on the baby tightened, and the baby wiggled. Ophelia turned back to the director, who was glancing between them. Percy was sure she’d noticed the mood shift in the tiny office. 

“Thank you, again,” Ophelia said, shifting the toddler. “I’ll fill this all out and get it to you as soon as I can. I just need the deposit to save the spot right?”

The director nodded at her. “Make sure you have your current center send over the transfer papers.” 

“Of course. Thanks. I’ll be in touch soon.” Ophelia rushed out the door.

Percy stood, shocked. He hoped he could catch her before she left. He dropped off the check quickly, less pleasantries than usual with the director. He went back out into the front playground. There was no trace of the girl, or her kid. Percy picked up Estelle, trying to shake Ophelia and the toddler out of his head. 

He does, however, remember to contact Camp about Ophelia. He isn’t sure how to explain her kid. A half-blood with a kid? How would they even accommodate? Could the baby even go over the border? Did she even have enough godly blood to make it over? Percy was sure Ophelia was a demigod though, so she had just as much a right to the safety and security of Camp as anyone else. It led him to come up with a bunch of new questions: the gods had made promises to claim their children. Ophelia was clearly older. And how had she survived so long all on her own? And with a kid to protect?

He sends an Iris Message in the late, quiet of his bedroom. He got ahold of Chiron, eventually, and relayed to him the two times he had run into Ophelia. 

He seemed to think a long moment. Percy can recognize the faraway look in his eyes, the gears spinning wildly in his head. He knows something. But Percy can already tell he’s not going to tell him anything he doesn’t want to. He rarely ever does. And it’s late and Percy’s ready to go to bed. There’s only a few days left of the semester, and Percy is truly, deeply, madly, _ relieved _. He worked so hard to get through the first year of college. Then, the second was harder. Who’d have thought? 

Annabeth IM’s him in the morning. They both have late morning classes on Tuesday. The apartment was empty other than Percy sitting at the table, shoveling cereal into his mouth, the Iris Message shining in front of him. They catch up, laughing and getting into their usual banter. It gets terribly, disgustingly flirty. 

Annabeth cuts off his dirty joke with a snicker. “Oh, how did that birthday party with Estelle go?” Annabeth asked.

Percy groaned and told his girlfriend all about the overstimulating, smelly experience. He blinked as he realized he hadn’t told her about Ophelia. “Oh, I forgot,” He added, and he told the story again. He added in the uncomfortable exchange at the preschool. 

Annabeth’s brows pinch together as she considered his story. “A baby?” 

Percy nodded. “Not even two yet, I don’t think. I didn’t ask. She didn't seem like she was into having a conversation.”

“You told Chiron?”

Percy nodded again. “Si. He seemed put off a little, but if she is a half-blood she has just as much a right to train as the rest of ‘em.”

This time, Annabeth nodded. She bit her lip. “A baby.” She said again, this time it wasn’t a question, she’d gotten the confirmation, she was feeling out the word, imagining it: a girl younger than her, a demigod, with a baby. The thought made her queasy. 

The conversation quickly shifted back to their usual odds and ends.

To Percy’s relief, the first day of Camp rolls around more quickly than it had seemed it would. He hadn’t committed to the whole summer this year, he would help out around the arena and teach some sword fighting lessons. At twenty, he was less of a camper and more like a figurehead now. He enjoyed training the younger children, building their confidence. 

The first day of Camp was peaceful: lots of high fives and hugs. Percy and Annabeth walked hand in hand. Over the past few years, with the Gods new oath, Camp was bursting with young, bright-eyed half-bloods. 

The first night campfire was always the best, everyone coming back together, catching up. The fire burned bright, joyous and golden, swirling high above the treetops with giddy anticipation. The short benches that circled the campfire were overflowing, kids squished together, familiar ones perched on each other’s laps. Even beneath the benches, on the worn grass, between the knees of friends and companions, campers sat. Percy had pulled Annabeth into his lap, the two of them far off to the side, sitting in the grass. They watched the scene unfold, complete with terrible singing and embarrassing stories. Her golden hair was pulled back into a messily made braid. Percy gently pulled the tie off the end and began to unravel the braid. She tried to swat him away, hoping to preserve the braid one more day. But his fingers in her hair felt too nice to object more than once. He unfurled the last stitch of the braid and moved on to brushing her hair out with his fingers. Her eyes fluttered shut, a sleepy smile pulling on her lips.

Peace. Home.

Percy looked up again, taking it all in. He breathed in, the smell of ripe strawberries and green grass filling his lungs. The persistent lapping of the Sound playing like a soothing white noise machine. 

Everyone was laughing, roasting marshmallows. A few newbies got claimed. Nothing unusual.

He recognized a few newer kids, some were already starting to look older. He made eye contact with few and they gave some respectful waves. He waved back. This was more than he could ever have dreamed of, after everything, all the wars and prophecies, this was what it was all for. For them. For family and future. 

Far back in the crowd, sitting on the grass, was Ophelia. She stared into the fire, she looked like she was far away in thought. Wrapped around her like a sash was a piece of thin pink cloth. Peeking out from the top was the face of her toddler, her cheek squished against her mother’s chest. Her hand absentmindedly traced over the little girl’s cheek. She leaned in and planted a kiss on the baby’s face. He wasn’t sure if she’d seen him. 

She looks up from her baby, and they make eye contact. Uh-oh.

Ophelia looked startled, but she didn't look frightened. Her expression changed quickly, she turned pink, it almost looked like she smiled. She looked back down at her baby. She had been stirring. Ophelia bounced and he could see the _ Shhhhhh…. _ on her lips. The baby lulled back to sleep. It was a sweet, intimate moment between mother and daughter and Percy felt as though he had to look away. He looked back down at Annabeth, half asleep in his lap. He only saw her grey eyes for a second before they fluttered shut again. She was still half-heartedly humming along to the Apollo’s cabin cheesy songs. He leaned over and kissed her forehead, then her closed eyes, her nose, and finally ever so softly on her lips. She smelled like earth and rain and strawberries. She smiled, but the humming didn’t stop.


	2. Stormy Glimpse

_ **Stormy Glimpse - Ophelia **_

_A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Idea _, Ophelia decided over breakfast. Day two and Ophelia was already sure that this whole Camp Half-Blood thing was not going to go well. She and Zita had survived before, they could go back to Florida and go back to their lives. Of course, they survived with the help of her mother, but still, that’s how family worked. Even if it was complicated and messy. And hurt sometimes. 

Ophelia was assigned to Cabin Eleven, technically she was unclaimed. Her mother had made appearances throughout her life, doing what she could from the sidelines. Then came Zita, and her mother became a more permanent figure in her life, becoming fiercely protective of her granddaughter. 

The Cabin was crowded, considering all the unclaimed were there, and all the Hermes kids, which seemed to outnumber the unclaimed. They’d all introduced themselves to her, but she had a hard time keeping the names and faces straight. The first night in a new place was incredibly difficult for Zita. There were too many new people, too many new places, her routine thrown to the wind. The poor baby had the most restless sleep of her life, keeping her mother up all night, and some of the Cabin. She was already getting glances of disapproval from her Cabin mates. The ones that slept deeply, barely noticed their new tiny Cabin mate. However, the light sleepers, were not happy. They looked just as tired as Ophelia did. However, Ophelia was used to being tired all the time. She was a mother. 

The dining pavilion was buzzing with people. There was so much laughter, barely drowned out by the sound of shuffling campers and dishes. This was the first moment she’d taken her daughter out of the sling since being brought over the border. She had been guided by her pushy mother. Usually, Zita would have complained about being confined for so long, she was a very active toddler, inquisitive, and too advanced for her own good. She’d walked early, talked early, and was essentially potty trained by a year and a half. Ophelia was a very proud mother. Regardless of her age, or the circumstances her daughter had been born from, Ophelia was so very proud of her little girl. 

Zita was out of the sling, but still wouldn’t let her mother’s hand go. Her eyes wouldn’t stop bouncing, trying to take everything in. Ophelia had placed her on the top of the table, Zita’s little rolly polly baby legs kicking. 

“More ‘nana, please.” Zita asked.

Ophelia ripped off another chunk of her banana and gave it to Zita. Ophelia wasn’t hungry, Zita was eating the whole banana herself. 

Slowly, the Campers thinned out, beginning the day’s activities. Ophelia lingered, she really didn’t want to go through the embarrassment this day had in store for her. It was inevitable, she would have Zita in the sling most the day, and that would cause her to meltdown. Probably during some kind of structured time, no doubt. Toddlers loved to meltdown in front of large crowds. Ophelia feared her daughter being anywhere other than tucked against her, there were weapons on the hips of campers and there was always the smell of something burning. It was definitely not a toddler proof place. 

However, Ophelia liked the excuse to get out of a lot of activities. She couldn’t do much fighting with her not even two year old strapped to her, could she? Ophelia might have been scrappy and resourceful, but she was all bark and no bite. Her mother had tried to help her, to train her herself. She knew her fate. She was a protector. A shitty one, by the way, because there’s not a single weapon she can wield effectively. 

That was the reason her mother had finally convinced her to spend a summer at Camp Half-Blood. It was a sensitive topic between them, driving a wedge. Ophelia believed she could protect her daughter on her own. 

“Foolish, girl!” Her mother had shouted, fists balled.

“It’s not your place to decide!” Ophelia had shouted back.

“Ophelia Jane Brokensha, I have broken many rules and angered many gods to protect you and your daughter. I have known your fate since you were born. And when Zita was born--” Her mother inhaled. “Do not make me look a fool, Ophelia.” She spat. 

Ophelia was on the verge of an outburst, something she would definitely regret saying. 

But her mother softened before Ophelia let her insults spue. Her mother sighed. “Ophelia, please. For her. You don’t have many more summers you can go before it begins to affect Zita.” She brushed a stray, wild lock from her daughter’s face. “You are not a warrior, not a hero, we both know that. You are a protector. Protect her.” Her voice was soft, loving, maternal. “You will always make me proudest when you are being a good mother. Go to Camp. Train hard, get the knowledge you need to keep her safe until---” her mother’s voice dropped.

Ophelia couldn’t look her mother in the eye. “Okay,” was all she could manage. 

Now, though, in the moment she regretted the decision. It was hopeless. The whole situation seemed hopeless. Ophelia just wanted to go home and raise Zita for the next ten years, keep her pure of heart and oblivious, and soak up every moment before the Great Big Bad happened. 

Ophelia let her daughter finish the banana. 

Zita fought being placed back into the sling. Ophelia groaned at her toddler as she squirmed. “Zita, stop it.”

“No, Eemama!” She kicked.

Ophelia knew her first outburst was coming. The joys of being a mother of a stubborn little girl. Ophelia took the sling off and rewrapped it in a different fashion. Instead of following the path of a sash, it now made an X over her chest. She managed to wrestle Zita into a piggyback position, wrapped snug against her back. Zita had hated the piggyback position when she was younger, she couldn’t see over her mother’s shoulders. But now, at almost two, she could peek over and play with her mother’s hair.

“There, better?” Ophelia asked the toddler.

“Yeah.” Zita bumped up and down on her back.

“Chill it, Z.” Ophelia scolded.

The next time Zita gets taken out of the sling is during Ancient Greek, which Ophelia quickly realized would not come as naturally to her as it did most demigods. Ophelia couldn’t see through the mist until she had gotten pregnant at fifteen. Oh boy, had that changed a lot about her perception of the world. Magic and monsters were on more corners than she could have ever guessed. Even still, her sight was poor. The mist still blurred a lot of things out, like trying to see things without glasses, blurry and distorted, and clearly not quite right. 

Ophelia was sure Zita, however, could see through the mist. Upon arriving at camp and seeing Chiron, the toddler had gasped, beaming from ear to ear, “Horsey! Neighhhhh!” She’d called out from her mother’s hip. Ophelia had been so embarrassed. Ophelia spent a lot of her emotional energy on being embarrassed: her daughter was wiser than her twenty-one months should have let her be. She always said the _ darndest _ things. Life with a quick-witted toddler kept Ophelia on her toes. Zita was always yelling “Green! Eema go!” In the most exasperated voice a toddler could have. Zita had been a backseat driver since she was sixteen months and had figured out what the traffic light colors meant. Oh, she was a real joy alright. 

Zita sat beside her on the bench of the amphitheater. Ophelia had picked a spot as high up as she could have, away from the crowd. She assumed this would be the only moment of the day she would feel comfortable letting Zita wander. Zita wandered back and forth across the aisle. Only two other campers had sat as high up as she had. Maybe they were hoping to not be called on too. 

“Zita,” Ophelia gave her a warning as she wandered further than she liked. “Too far.”

Zita minded her mother most of the time, she was a mouthy toddler but mostly followed directions. Zita furrowed her brow at her mother, but stomped back over to her.

The only camper within a reasonable distance of her slid down the aisle toward her and Zita. Zita squatted down to pick something up from the ground. “Zita, put that down.”

“She yours?”

Ophelia quickly touched her daughter’s hair then looked up to see the owner of the voice. A guy, younger than her. He was all crooked teeth and brown skin. His hair was so long he’d it tied up messily in a bun. 

She waited a beat. “Yeah, she’s mine.” she waited for the _ Look _ to happen, the look of judgment. 

It didn’t come. Instead, he said, revealing the most devious smile she’d ever witnessed, “She’s adorable.”

“Smart cookie.” Zita corrected him. She says the darndest things.

Her clear speech seemed to surprise him. He blinked. “She can talk?”

Ophelia held back from laughing loud enough to interrupt the whole class. She swallowed down hysterical laughter, face turning red. “She doesn’t shut up.” She managed to get out. 

“Zita.” The toddler introduced herself.

The boy wrinkled his nose at her, but it’s playful. “Skinner.” He faced Ophelia again. “What’s your name? I don't recognize and you weren’t claimed last night at the campfire.” 

Ophelia detected an accent. She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t heard it earlier. Indian, maybe? She wasn’t sure what exactly. “Ophelia.” 

“Super Greek.” Skinner grinned, revealing a cracked K-9 tooth. 

“Actually, the name Ophelia didn’t originate in Ancient Greece. It was popularized by Shakespeare, a female variant of Ophelos, meaning ‘help’.” Ophelia felt stupid reciting her sixth-grade name origin project to some stranger. 

“Huh,” Skinner said. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“My dad hated the name, we're Jewish. He wanted a traditional name, but my mom insisted.” Ophelia explained.

“Jewish?” Skinner questioned.

“Yup.” 

“I guess we need as much faith as we can manage, huh? Hoping that there’s someone the Gods have to answer to?” He flashed that broken tooth again.

Ophelia considered taking her hand off of Zita, looking him in the eye. She was tempted to let the Glimpse happen. What kind of demigod child of a Greek god with fucked up teeth would make such a comment? There was a lot you could learn about someone by learning about their mother. Ophelia decided not to force the Glimpse. 

Ophelia stroked her daughter’s hair. The little girl began to sing. It was nonsense, one nursery sung to the tune of another, and interrupted by something else completely.

“You’re not wrong.” Ophelia said.

“Something you two would like to share?” The voice boomed through the amphitheater. The instructor was looking directly at Ophelia and Skinner. 

“Peepee!” Zita called back, standing up on her toes.

The amphitheater erupted into laughter.

Nice save, Zita, Ophelia thought. “Zita has to go to the bathroom.” Ophelia shouted back down the amphitheater.

Zita meant it though, Ophelia rushed out of the class fifteen minutes early with her daughter on her hip and beelined the toddler to the bathroom. Ophelia helped her daughter up to the sink so she could wash her hands. “Bubbles.” The toddler said.

“Yes, Zita-Pita, make bubbles.”

“Oh!” A voice called, echoing off the tile walls.

“Hi!” Zita called back.

Ophelia put her daughter back down and took her hand. Ophelia noted her soft, warm, baby skin before she looked to the other person in the room. The instructor from the class, a girl, definitely older than Ophelia, but about the same height. She was blonde and long-legged. Ophelia couldn’t remember her name. She’d been given so many names in the past day.

“You skipped out early.” The girl didn’t seem angry, though.

“Kid had to pee. She’s only been potty trained a few months so I’m not pushing the extent of her bladder power yet.” Ophelia told her.

“She’s potty trained? What is she? One?” She questioned, eyebrows raised.

“Almost two,” Ophelia corrected her. 

Ophelia recognized the grey eyes that were on her, studying her. She’d unintentionally gotten a Glimpse of her last night, at the campfire. 

It was one of the few Glimpses that had left a smile on her face. It had happened by accident, Zita had shifted just right in the sling. For all of two seconds, Zita wasn’t touching her mother. That’s all it took for her to get a Glimpse. Ophelia had been watching Percy Jackson and the pretty girl who laid lovingly in his lap. She’d caught a flash of her stormy eyes for barely a millisecond, and the moment flashed against her will. 

The blonde girl was older, her hair tied up in a messy bun as she chased a laughing, green-eyed toddler across the tiled kitchen. Warm, morning light flooded in through the windows, the smell of something sweet baking in the oven. As fast as the Glimpse came, it was gone, Zita had settled back into her mother’s chest. Ophelia had kissed her. 

The Glimpse had made her feel all warm and fuzzy, love and peace had filled that short scene. The quick Glimpse came back to Ophelia, and she couldn’t help but smile. 

“What?” The girl said.

Ophelia shook her head. “Nothing.”

The girl looked confused, still studying her. She was intense. Ophelia had thought she had a look that could kill, but this girl screamed FIERCE AND DANGEROUS, RUN!

The girl softened. “What’s your name?” She asked.

“Ophelia.”

“Zita.”

They both looked at the toddler. Zita beamed, showing off her incomplete set of teeth. 

“I’m Annabeth.” Annabeth said. Ophelia could see the wheels as they turned in her head. She was deciding whether to add something.

Ophelia waited.

“You’re her mom?” Annabeth asked, almost a whisper, like she was asking if Ophelia was a virgin. (Clearly, the answer is no.)

“Yup.” Ophelia was going to be getting this question a lot here. Had demigods never seen MTV’s Teen Mom?

“How old were you?” Annabeth asked, even lower. 

“Fifteen.” 

Zita pulled on her mother’s jeans. “Eemama, go?”

“Yes, Pita, we’ll go.” Ophelia made sure Zita was still holding onto her pant leg before looking back to Annabeth. Even though the first Glimpse she’d gotten was pleasant, it didn’t mean the next would be. “See you around.” Ophelia skirted around Annabeth and left her there.

“Zita, can you say awkward?” Ophelia grumbled.

“Awkward.” Maybe: it sounded more like ‘aqua’ but she’d tried her best so Ophelia counted it. 


	3. Seething Glimpse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> u ready for this WILDT ride. this chapter took me days bc there was so much i wanted to say in this so much i wanted to convey but ??? words r hard. anyway this is the Scene ive been waiting for . lets get this binch CLAIMED

** _Seething Glimpse - Ophelia_ **

Archery didn’t go as horribly as Ophelia thought it was going to. She actually hit the target, barely, but she did. She also had her toddler piggybacked to her. She reminded the other campers of that, when they snickered at her terrible aim. 

Zita also sung in her mother’s ear, stuck a finger in said ear, proceeded to pull her hair, and took a cat nap all in the time span of an hour’s worth of instruction. Zita was clearly checking off her usual to-do list. No matter how obnoxious Zita got, Ophelia never apologized for her behavior. She was simply being a toddler, a confined toddler at that, and she was being more of a nuisance to Ophelia than to anyone else. Even when Zita started singing a wildly inappropriate song for her age, (Ophelia’s still a teenage girl she listens to teenager music.) Ophelia shushed her and was certainly embarrassed, but she did not apologize. 

The instruction had been lead by the counselor of the Apollo cabin. Ophelia couldn’t remember the boy’s name, but he was exactly how she would have imagined a son of Apollo: golden blonde and oozing with charisma. He won brownie points with Ophelia when he dismissed the group early, citing that he thought the first full day should have more free time. Maybe he just wanted more free time. 

“Ophelia!” 

Ophelia reached behind her to touch the limp leg of her napping child. She was still securely attached to her. Skinner jogged up beside her. 

“Skinner?” Ophelia questioned, though she was pretty sure she’d gotten his name right. 

He nodded. “You’re a decent archer.” He said bumping her with his shoulder.

Ophelia flinched, stepping further from him. It caused him to frown, but only for a second. “I was terrible.” She responded. “I barely hit the fucking thing.”

Skinner laughed. “I was trying to be nice.”

“Why?” Ophelia hadn’t meant to say it, just think it. She wanted to take it back. It was an awkward question. “Nevermind, I didn’t mean---”

Skinner shook his head. “I dunno.” He frowned again. “Friendship?” He said, showing off his broken tooth again. “Is that enough reason?”

“You should really have that tooth looked at. You know how much an infected tooth can affect your health?” Ophelia said. 

He laughed again. Ophelia wasn’t sure if she liked his laugh or not. It was a little crazy, maniacal. 

“Eemama?” Ophelia’s carry on was rousting. “Cracker?”

Ophelia laughed. “We don’t have any crackers, Zita-Pita.”

“You like crackers?” Skinner asked, peering around Ophelia to get a look at Zita.

Zita bounced up and down. “Crackers!” She agreed.

“Now I’m a mission to track down crackers. See ya, ‘Phelia.” He jogged off. He called to another camper, clapping them on the shoulder. The two laughed. It was probably a misguided assumption, but Ophelia assumed Skinner was telling his buddy all about her, and probably not good things. 

Ophelia really didn’t want her half an hour of free time to be up, she really didn’t want to go to her 3 o’clock activity. 

* * *

_ **Seething Glimpse - Percy** _

It was bad enough that Chiron was going to be observing Percy during his 3 o’clock Beginners Swordsmanship, but it seemed even worse when Ophelia trailed in, head down. She seemed just as uncomfortable as he was. She didn’t even look at him. She was chewing on the inside of her cheek, then she bit down her thumbnail. She was as far back in the arena as she could get. The other campers sat on the lowest bleacher of the arena, closest to where Percy was instructing. Ophelia sat cross-legged on the cement, the little girl on her lap, the pink sling hanging loosely around both of them. The baby rubbed her eyes. Her bright eyes looked tired.

Ophelia was also the oldest in the class. The other campers were tweens, their first or second summer. Ophelia had a lot of catching up to do.  Most of the campers were eager to get started, but it was only the first day so Percy started with the basics. He hoped Ophelia would jump in once the group got acquainted but she didn’t. 

Percy didn’t want to push, especially since their last two encounters had been so awkward. However, the class drone on and Ophelia never came any closer. She stayed put, blending into the nearest exit. Percy kept a careful eye on her. He stole glances of her, hoping to meet her eyes, to get some kind of confirmation that she was present. She had quiet conversations with her toddler. She would smile and frown. Her lips would move, but her voice was low, he couldn't hear her. She would shake her head or nod. 

Percy knew Chiron would chide him for not including everyone. “Ophelia,” Percy called. 

Ophelia shifted her toddler, and looked to him.

He waived for her to come up. 

She glanced around, all eyes were on her. Ophelia came to the front, but she didn’t push past the other campers.

Chiron stood to the side, out of the way of the class. He hadn’t made himself a spectacle, he watched as Percy led. At first, it had made Percy nervous, but he quickly realized he wasn’t observing him, he was observing the campers, making mental notes. He never moved though, he didn’t make any comments or suggestions.

Now though, as Ophelia came to the front, he shifted, watching with more intent. Chiron cantered closer to the group. “I’ll watch the child.” He said, a warm smile on his face, but it wasn’t a suggestion, he swiped the baby from her mother’s arms. 

“No! Wait!” Ophelia shouted, reaching out to take her baby back. 

“I won’t let anything happen to her.” Chiron said, level and calm; even as Ophelia breathed heavy, eyes wide. 

“No, it’s not--” She said, but Percy cut her off.

“Come on, Ophelia.” He said. He’d meant it to be reassuring, almost teasing. He tried to give her his signature troublemaker smile. He didn’t get the chance.

Her fists balled on either side of her and her shoulders tensed, rising up to her fire red ears. Percy couldn’t see her face, she was still facing Chiron, but he could tell that she was angry. 

Chiron’s disposition had changed too. He no longer was cool and collected, he was worried, brows furrowed and head cocked. “Ophelia---” He warned, low and serious.

Ophelia spun around so fast, Percy couldn’t help but move into a fighting stance, knees bent, Riptide still in hand. 

Her eyes burned,  _ seethed _ , with hatred. Her face was fiery with rage, mouth pinched together. She shook.

“Fuck you, son of the Sea God!” She shouted, poison dripping off each word. Her sharp tone cut through the arena, the words echoed all around, bouncing in all directions. 

The group collectively gasped. Even Chiron was shocked by Ophelia’s outburst. He blinked, and his back hooves moved uneasily.

Ophelia yanked the baby back from Chiron. The toddler’s bottom lip trembled, her eyes watered. She cried. She kicked and screamed. The moment was so reckless and fast that Ophelia dropped her.

Percy leaped in, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t make it in time to catch her, and the fall from her mother’s arms to the ground would not be fatal for the little girl. Nonetheless, he bolted.

No one made it in time to catch her, Ophelia’s daughter hit the cement floor, bottom first. The little girl shrieked at the top of her lungs, fat tears staining her chubby cheeks. “Eemama! Eemama!” She wailed.

Percy knelt down to check the girl, to wipe away a tear, to comfort her. She wasn’t much younger than Estelle. 

Before he could, Ophelia shoved him. Ophelia Brokensha shoved Percy Jackson to the ground. Percy was so stunned he fell back, landing on his ass. 

“No one touches her!” Ophelia shrieked. “Especially not you,  _ Jackson _ .” Ophelia spat and picked up her daughter. Percy wasn’t sure how she knew his name, let alone his full name. They’d never officially introduced themselves. He’d just read her nametag. Ophelia shushed her daughter, kissed her all over, petted her hair, but the toddler was inconsolable. 

Percy was still stunned, angry, but stunned. It was terribly bold of Ophelia to push him-- no,  _ shove _ him. She had used all her force. She was stronger than Percy would have guessed. She was not thin by any means, her collarbones didn’t show, her face was round and soft, and she was curvier than most seventeen-year-olds: tall and hourglassed. She had thick thighs and strong legs. 

The onlooking campers whispered. Others passing by had come to gawk at the scene. Percy glanced around. Everyone was looking at Ophelia. 

She had been claimed.  Above her head, glowing golden, was a symbol Percy had never seen before. The symbol was a woman cradling an infant.

“_Hera?_” A young camper whispered, mortified.

“No,” Chiron said. He didn’t blink. He folded his front hooves, bowing. The other campers followed. 

Percy didn’t follow, he was still too stunned, leaning on his palms for support, he stared at the mother and daughter.

“Goddess of childbirth and midwifery, protector of children, lady of mothers,” he paused. “Hail, Ophelia Brokensha, daughter of Eileithyia.”

Ophelia hadn’t looked up from her child, who was still crying. The claiming didn’t shock her. Percy had a suspicion she had already known who her godly parent was.

The baby’s cries finally ended. There was absolute silence in the arena. He heard a sword hit the ground, clattering against the cement. His grip tightened on Riptide. No one moved, no one spoke. The Sound lapped far out in the distance, louder than it had a moment before. 

“No way,” A younger camper finally breathed, the silence broken.

Percy tried to identify what everyone was staring at, what had caused the intense suffocation in the arena. The symbol above Ophelia had dissipated, showering her and her daughter in shimmering gold. It dusted their clothes and hair, leaving them shrouded in an ethereal glow. 

Everyone stayed on their knees. A few glances went to Chiron, who was just as quiet and stunned.

Percy saw it. The toddler was reaching up from her mother’s arms, tears still wet on her face. With her chubby baby hands, she reached out for the glowing green trident swirling over her head.

“**NO!**” Ophelia cried out, yanking her child away from the holographic trident. She pulled her in, covering her, shielding her with her body. She crumbled to the floor, on her knees, she folded in on herself. Ophelia’s sobs made her shake. Her tears hit the cement, turning it a shade darker.

“I--” Chiron’s voice broke through. He cleared his throat. “Earthshaker. Stormbringer. Father of Horses,” His voice faltered again.

Percy knew what was coming next. 

“Hail, Zita Brokensha. Daughter of Poseidon.”

Percy had another sister.

* * *

“Class dismissed,” Chiron said.

The campers raced off in all directions. Percy didn’t move. There were no words, only questions. A million questions burned in his head. None of which he managed to get out.

“He promised,” Ophelia whispered through her cries. “He promised.”

“Ophelia,” Chiron said, moving to stand beside her. He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

Ophelia flinched.

“Let’s go back to the Big House. To speak privately?” Chiron’s voice was soothing, gentle and understanding. 

Percy was going to open his mouth to speak, but Chiron raised a hand to stop him. The hand Ophelia had flinched at.

“Not now, Percy. Later.” Chiron told him.

Percy watched as Chiron, Ophelia, and Zita trailed back to the Big House. So did the rest of camp. Everyone whispered, probably bubbling with the same questions Percy had. It wouldn’t take long for the whole camp to know about the new Cabin Three resident. Annabeth came up beside him.

“Is it true?” She whispered to him. She was also watching Ophelia and Chiron as they strode into the Big House. 

Percy could only nod. There were a lot of new truths Annabeth could have been asking about, but he was sure which one was the most prominent.

Annabeth took his hand, lacing their fingers. Percy breathed out. 

“Come on,” She tugged on him. He followed. He knew they were following after Chiron and Ophelia.

“He told me not to.” Percy told Annabeth.

“Since when do we follow orders? I need answers.” Annabeth said. 

Ophelia and Chiron had not gone into the Big House they were sitting on the porch. Percy and Annabeth both stood back against the exterior wall. Percy attempted to peer around the corner, but Annabeth pulled him back by his elbow. She put her pointer finger to her lips.

Ophelia had calmed, but there was so much anguish and hurt in her voice, Percy’s heart felt three sizes smaller. “He promised me. He promised _ us _ . He swore he wouldn’t claim her yet.” She breathed deep, in and out, holding back another cry. 

Percy stared out into the strawberry fields, trying to imagine what expression Ophelia and Chiron were wearing. He looked to Annabeth, whose brows were pinched. She was thinking. 

“You know what this does to her? To the curse?” Ophelia’s voice shook again, she sniffled.

“It’s not as catastrophic as you think, Ophelia,” Chiron said calmly. He was trying to keep her calm, Percy decided.

“The curse is intact. It technically didn’t touch her. It was above her.” Chiron added.

“Still!” Ophelia said, voice raised. She was quiet for a beat, then spoke again, level again. “It changes who she is, what choices she’ll make, the people she’ll build relationships with. She’s no longer the daughter of Ophelia Brokensha, she’s the daughter of Poseidon. That’s all she’ll ever be.”

Percy wanted to take offense to such a line, but he had to be quiet. He was the son of Poseidon, but he was still the son of Sally Jackson too. His mother had a deep impact on him: the choices he made, the people he built relationships with. She was just as much a part of him. 

Annabeth was open-mouthed. She couldn’t believe the conversation either.

“Percy,” Chiron chided. “Annabeth.”

_ Caught _ . How did he do that?

Annabeth took his hand. She pulled him so they could take off in a sprint, but honestly, he didn’t want to run away. He wanted to face Ophelia, to confront her.

Annabeth let Percy drag her around the front side of the porch. 

Zita was asleep, wrapped against Ophelia in the sling. She had a thumb in her mouth. Ophelia looked up, but she was only looking at Annabeth. He wanted to run up to her, ask every question on his mind with the same amount of poison in his voice that she had used, but seeing her now, so worn and broken, he couldn't. She looked absolutely shattered. 

“_Ophelia,_” Annabeth breathed out. Some kind of look of understanding had passed between the two girls. Ophelia nodded, slow and sad. Annabeth looked solemn. She looked at Ophelia with pity, like she was going to give her condolences on a death in the family. No one had died, no one had been hurt: there must have been something that Percy didn’t get. Annabeth also hadn’t seen Ophelia’s outburst in person. She hadn’t seen the burning hatred in her eyes.

Annabeth squeezed Percy’s hand, then let go. She went up the steps onto the porch and knelt beside Ophelia. She looked at her with nothing but understanding and compassion. “What’s going to happen?” She asked Ophelia. It seemed like such a loaded question, meant to cover so many smaller questions and assumptions.

Ophelia looked to her. They watched each other for a long moment. “I don’t know,” Ophelia finally whispered, defeated. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im Genuinely curious are u shocked ? i told u from the summary ophelia is not the hero. just the hero's mother, a different breed of hero


	4. Evolving Glimpse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy some more of my Dramatic child.

_ **Evolving Glimpse - Ophelia** _

Ophelia finally got some space. She could breathe. Chiron sent Annabeth and Percy away, back to their activities. The day would still continue on. Chiron left soon after too. He had lingered though, keeping an eye on Ophelia and Zita. He’d milled around the Big House, pretending to busy himself with mundane tasks. Ophelia knew better. Did he consider her a flight risk? Maybe this was his idea of a suicide watch? She had been a little crazy in the arena. Maybe infanticide watch? Was that a thing?

Ophelia was tired: emotionally, spiritually, mentally, physically, the whole lot. Her daughter’s claiming had brought back so many fears she had managed to quiet. Fears she had managed to bury deep inside herself. It ripped open the deep wounds of the summer Zita was conceived, and the lonely year that followed it: wounds she had packed with hatred and hopelessness, messily sewn shut by lies and deceit. 

Ophelia hoped Annabeth had understood. She was a daughter of Athena, she must have been smart enough to figure it out, right? She must have known that there was another piece to the puzzle that surrounded the birth of Zita Brokensha. She hoped Annabeth didn’t see her the way the rest of the world did: a promiscuous girl,  _ a reckless girl _ , her father would have corrected her. Annabeth had had such an understanding look, like she knew that Ophelia hadn’t planned any of this. 

Ophelia knew all about Sally Jackson and the birth of Percy Jackson. When Ophelia had met Percy that fateful Sunday afternoon at work, she’d gotten way more exposition from one glance than most people would get in a lifetime of knowing him. You could learn a lot about someone by learning about their mother. It was the first Glimpse that Ophelia had gotten in months. She had learned how to control them, mostly. In a matter of seconds, Ophelia had seen three generations of Jacksons: Percy and Estelle, Sally, and Sally’s mother Estelle. She’d felt the love Sally had for her children. It was warm and hopeful: fresh baked cookies and lingering hugs. She’d seen flashes of moments throughout Percy’s childhood: his first steps, his first day of Kindergarten, their first vacation to Montauk. The first time he held baby Estelle. Glimpses always felt so violating. Ophelia also saw things she wished she hadn’t. She’d seen Gabe, Sally’s abusive ex-husband.

In only a matter of seconds, Ophelia had to absorb the life that was Sally Jackson’s, and a part of her was envious. Ophelia knew feeling jealous of Sally Jackson was ridiculous. (like most of the emotions she had been feeling lately.) She’d been through her fair share of hurt and struggles, (she saw them all) but at least she was a willing participant in her children's births.  Sally had known who Poseidon was. She had gotten to know him and love him as the man he was. She loved him for a summer and let him go, knowing he would always be watching. She was able to grow from the heartache, rise above it all, she could remember him for the god he was.  _ Lost at sea,  _ she had told little Percy, wistfully. She knew from the day they had met that he would have to leave. Ophelia, however, could not shake her abandonment and betrayal. They were dark emotions that settled heavily on her shoulders. Sally had been a grown consenting adult. Ophelia had not been. Ophelia had been a young, naive teenage girl manipulated by the Sea God and his trick of the Mist. 

Ophelia clenched her teeth, feeling bamboozled all over again. She had believed him, again. She had trusted him, again. He had failed her, again. She believed he had good intentions for their ill-planned child. He did not. He would put his own pride above her safety and wellbeing. He would rather have enjoyed the shock value of claiming her as a mere toddler than the  _ world’s _ safety, his  _ own _ safety. Poseidon knew what Zita’s fate was. He’d known even before he waltzed into Ophelia’s cousin’s under the sea themed bat mitzvah, an unwelcome party crasher.

“I never miss an ocean themed event,” He’d explained to her, flashing his troublemaker smile.

Ophelia felt like screaming, all the emotions and memories bubbled up in her throat. She’d tried so hard to forget his sea green eyes and lopsided grin, the way he smelled like a beach she’d never been to, how warm and careful he’d been with her. Poseidon wasn’t the boy she remembered, though. She had no idea what he actually looked like. All she had was the image he’d shrouded himself in, a sixteen-year-old boy. He’d looked just like Percy Jackson: tall and lean, mysterious and dark. It made her hate him. It was unreasonable, Ophelia knew that, but it didn’t change the fact that every time she saw him she wanted to punch him. He was probably nothing like his father. Or maybe he was just like him. 

Ophelia couldn’t scream, Zita was sleeping. She needed the rest. Ophelia closed her eyes. They burned with a new wave of tears.

Someone settled next to her on the porch. They didn’t speak though. Ophelia rested a hand on her daughter’s sleeping form.  Ophelia could feel him, his annoying persistence. 

“You wanna talk about it?” Skinner asked.

Ophelia shook her head.

“Okay.”

They sat in silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. A long moment passed. The breeze picked up, sending the smell of strawberries across the porch. Chimes sang out.

“I’m sorry.” He said.

This made Ophelia turn. “For what?” He had nothing to be sorry for.

“What happened to you.” He said, soft and unsure.

He understood. He had filled in the pieces. Maybe he was an Athena kid, too. 

“I found Zita some crackers.” Skinner held out a half-open pack of Ritz to Ophelia.

Ophelia laughed and a few leftover tears trickled down her cheek. “Thanks,” she sniffled. She tried to wipe her cheeks inconspicuously. 

“Eileithyia, huh?” Skinner asked. “Didn’t know she had half-bloods.”

Ophelia shrugged, sneaking a cracker. “She told me it’s not high on her to-do list, her kids are always daughters whose lives end in tragedy. Something about that being what _ The Fates have written time and time again _ . Her words exactly. Lucky me, huh?”

“You’ve met her?” Skinner seemed a little shocked.

She nodded. “Yeah, she actually raised me for a while. She left when I was three. I didn’t remember her well.” There was a lot more to the story than that. She remembered quite a bit. That she came and went as she pleased, disappearing for weeks at a time. That she constantly fought with her father. That she made her loving step-mother’s life hell. That Ophelia had no idea she was a goddess because she couldn’t see through the Mist. Then how she had forced her way back into Ophelia’s life when she had gotten pregnant with Zita. “Wait, who’s your godly parent?” Ophelia asked. 

Skinner sighed, but there was a crooked smile on his lips. “Mr. D.” 

Ophelia just about peed herself from holding back laughter. (after having a kid, that’s a real fear though.) Ophelia had met the camp director. She couldn't see the resemblance. “Really?” She asked. She felt lighter. The anger that had been boiling in her had settled to a simmer.

He nodded, laughing himself. “Oh, yeah. I’m from Kerala, India, we do this thing it’s called Toddy. It’s alcohol made from coconut palm sap. My family has been brewing Toddy for generations. It’s our thing. It won the attention of Dionysus, and here I am.”

Ophelia wrinkled her nose. “Why Skinner, then? Doesn’t seem like a very Indian name.” Ophelia had mostly been called Jane her whole childhood because ‘Ophelia’ wasn’t a Hebrew name. Once she had gotten older, she demanded to be Ophelia. It was the name her mother had picked for her. She was Ophelia. 

“Sikander is. Hindi for victorious. Skinner was just a nickname I got here. There’s no great origin story to it, though. I don’t skateboard, sorry ‘Phels.” 

Ophelia snorted. “Names are important. Sacred. You shouldn’t whitewash yourself, Sikander.” 

He bumped her shoulder with his. “You’ve got some good one-liners there, Ophelia Brokensha.” He looked to the baby sleeping in her lap. “If you’re all about names, how did you come up with Zita?” He asked.

Ophelia looked down at her daughter. She stroked her pudgy, pink cheek. “It was a name I always liked, sweet and short, but different. You don’t hear it a lot. Then, when I found out a few days before she was born, who her father really was, I knew it would be her name. I didn’t want her to bear the weight of a dead hero’s name, a name that came with history. Zita has different meanings in different languages. It’s Hebrew and Greek, like her.”

He nodded. “I think it suits her. It’s fiery, like her.”

Ophelia smiled. “Yeah,” her voice was dreamy.

_ **Evolving Glimpse - Percy** _

__

Percy wanted to protest when Chiron sent him and Annabeth away, but Annabeth didn’t protest. Percy let Annabeth drag him away.

“You didn’t see it though, Annabeth.” He said, through gritted teeth. Now that he wasn’t looking at Ophelia in her broken state, he was angry at her again.

Annabeth sighed. “It’s not worth it, Percy, okay? She’s been through a lot.”

“How can you side with her?” He stopped in his tracks, brows furrowed. His voice was accusing. 

Annabeth stopped too. She stared at him for a long moment, storms brewing in her gray eyes. Her expression softened. “You’re that dense. You don’t get it.”

“Get what?” It came out sharper than he had meant it to.

“She was _ fifteen _ , Percy.” Annabeth said.

It clicked. Percy felt stupid. “He wouldn’t---”

“He did. There are plenty of stories of Gods---”

“He wouldn’t!” Percy’s voice rose. 

“Percy,” Annabeth warned. 

“There’s got to be more to the story, there’s got to be---”

Annabeth shook her head. “I doubt there is.”

Percy wanted to talk some sense into Annabeth, to try and explain away Zita’s conception, to clear Poseidon’s name as a  _ rapist _ .  He couldn’t come up with an explanation. It was a hard pill to swallow. How could he take advantage of a fifteen-year-old girl? Even now, at seventeen, Ophelia had a sweet, girlish face. She’d grown into the body of a mother, but she still looked like a highschooler. 

Percy remembered being fifteen. It was an awful age, hormonal and impressionable. He remembered Annabeth at fifteen, too, grappling with feelings and lost causes she couldn’t control. It was such an explosive, messy age.

Annabeth sighed, dropping her arms. “I’m sorry, Percy. It’s hard to think about him like that. He is still your dad.”

“And Zita’s.”

“Yeah.” Annabeth said. 

* * *

Ophelia wasn’t at the campfire that night. Part of Percy was relieved, another part was worried. Every interaction he had with Ophelia had been unpleasant, he was starting to honestly dislike her, there was no reason he should have worried about her, but he did. He wondered where she could have been. No one else seemed to notice that she wasn’t there, even after the whole camp spent the day whispering about her. Another child of the Big Three. Sure, they didn’t have an oath anymore, but no one expected another one so soon, especially not one born to a teenaged, half-blood mother. 

It was hard for Percy to put into perspective. Children of the Big Three were always powerful and dangerous, their unlucky destinies written long before they are even conceived. It was jarring to look at such a small, bright-eyed baby and know what kind of trauma she would be forced to endure. No one but his mother had known about his father when he had been Zita’s age. The whole world would soon know about Zita Brokensha’s parentage. The world of gods and monsters would be coming to end Zita’s childhood before she even started kindergarten. 

The thought of Zita dying made Percy’s stomach turn. He pulled Annabeth a little closer. Maybe Zita would be a lucky one, too. Maybe she would outlive her prophecies. Zita was his sister. As sickening as the thought was, it was a fact of life now. Percy now had two sisters, Estelle Jackson-Blofis and Zita Brokensha. 

“She’s not here,” Annabeth whispered to him.

“I know.” He whispered back.

“You think she’s okay?” She asked.

He shrugged. He didn’t want to care about Ophelia Brokensha, he didn’t want to worry about her. But he did; how annoying. 

“I keep thinking about it, about her,” Annabeth’s voice was still low. 

“I’m honestly trying not to, Annabeth.” He grumbled. 

“Percy, don’t hold what she said against her. She’s just taking her anger out on you. Anger that’s meant for Zita’s father.” She didn’t say Poseidon. She didn’t say ‘ _ your dad’  _ she called him ‘ _ Zita’s father’ _ , she was separating them.

“I still don’t think that’s fair. I didn’t do anything to her.” He snapped. Percy just wanted to be mad at her. She was mad at him for no good reason, why couldn’t he be? 

“Calm down, Seaweed Brain. Don’t carry useless anger towards Ophelia. Just give her some time to cool off.” She knew what he was thinking again. Great. “Zita’s your sister, after all.” Annabeth continued. “You two need to make amends.” Annabeth was being logical again. Sometimes, Percy hated when she was logical. “I don’t think you should make an enemy of her.”

“Hey, I wouldn’t make an  _ enemy  _ of her. That seems extreme.” He said.

This time, she shrugged. She wasn’t convinced. 

Percy knew it was time to end the conversation before they started a genuine argument. 

** _Evolving Glimpse - Ophelia_ **

****

Ophelia had skipped the campfire. She couldn’t face those people anymore today. She’d gotten the  _ eyes  _ all day. She could feel the chill of their whispers. It was like high school all over again, Ophelia was the pregnant girl again. 

Being pregnant in high school is a particularly othering experience. You lose who you were Before: your friends drop like flies, extracurriculars get harder and harder to keep up with, and your grades plummet. Ophelia had been a straight-A student, she had been on her local junior roller derby league, and came from a well-respected family. No one ever saw her the same way, she was no longer the perfect girl the world had painted her as since childhood. She had been gawked at as if she had been tainted, she been  _ dirtied _ . She may as well have embroidered a blood-red  _ A _ on her entire wardrobe. She had only been fifteen for pete’s sake. She hadn't done the deed all by herself. It was a common theme, she had found, with teen mothers: they were branded and scandalized. The fathers got to slip under the radar. Ophelia’s pregnancy had shocked her community more than most. Sure, there were other girls her age who had gotten pregnant that year, but Ophelia was a good girl who didn’t date. No one had known about her summer love affair. 

The wild eyes had taken her back to that embarrassing school year. It was even worse here, though: they knew exactly who Zita’s father was. It led to even wilder eyes than Ophelia had been used to. She couldn’t play it off here. She’d always said it was a stupid fling with a tourist boy, and that she couldn’t even remember his last name (it’s a half-truth.)

The campers of Camp Half-Blood, they knew better.

Ophelia could hear the fire though, it was crackling loud and proud in the green space. She could hear the campers, too. They were laughing and singing. She had enjoyed the campfire last night. But she didn’t have the energy to face anyone. The voices died down, and so did the sound of flames. The campfire was ending, but Ophelia didn’t move. She sat on the sand of Long Island Sound. Zita was still awake. Her nap had been late, so she was pushing her usual bedtime. She was beginning to get drowsy. 

“ _ My Zita lies over the ocean, _ ” Ophelia hummed. It was a song she had always sung to Ophelia. It was too spot-on and made Ophelia’s heart squeeze but she sang it anyway. It always calmed Zita. “ _ My Zita lies over the sea. My Zita lies over the ocean, please bring back my Zita to me, to me. _ ” She sang it again, holding her daughter close. Zita’s thumb found her mouth and Ophelia could listen to the soft suckling sound forever.

“That song’s a bit too literal, don’t you think?” It was a girl’s voice. Annabeth.

“What are you doing out so late? The campfire’s over.” Ophelia said.

Annabeth settled next to her. “I could ask you the same question.”

They sat quietly, staring out into the surf. Zita shifted in Ophelia’s arms. Annabeth stole a glance at the toddler. Ophelia loosened the sling around her shoulder so Zita could rest closer to Ophelia’s lap.

“I was hoping I would see you again today. I felt like our conversation got cut short earlier.” Annabeth said.

“Did Percy send you?” Ophelia countered.

Annabeth’s jaw tightened. “No.”

“Eema?” Zita whispered.

“Pita,” Ophelia cooed. It was enough for Zita to settle back against her mother.

“Eema?” Annabeth asked.

“It’s the Hebrew word for mother. We’re Jewish.”

“Even still?” Annabeth was full of _ great _ questions.

“A little affair with a god doesn’t waver my faith.” Ophelia rolled her eyes at Annabeth. Ophelia’s quip made Annabeth shift uncomfortably. “Or how I was raised.” She added. The addition made Annabeth relax.

A silent moment passed. The water lapped uneasily, dark and ominous. The silence wasn’t weird, though. Ophelia thought she could come to really like Annabeth. She couldn’t shake the Glimpse she’d gotten of her, either. She had a lovely life ahead of her. She would get to live in peace. That put Ophelia at ease. She had a scarred look about her. Ophelia could see it in her cloudy eyes that she had lived through too much, too fast, too young.

“What happened between you and Poseidon?”  _ Wow, bold question Annabeth _ , Ophelia thought. More  _ great  _ questions.

Ophelia chewed on the inside of her cheek. She could taste pennies. “We have a kid. I can assume you’ve been through enough high school Sex Ed to know where she came from. Spoiler, it’s not the stork.”

“Ha ha, Ophelia.” Annabeth rolled her eyes, but it was lighthearted. “I just---” She sighed. 

“You want to know if I seduced him?” Ophelia pursed her lips. “Did I egg him on?”

“No, Ophelia, you were just a kid,” Annabeth’s voice lowered. Her voice was slathered in pity.

“I was born without sight. I mean, I couldn’t see through the Mist, Annabeth.” Ophelia told her. It came out harder than she had planned. 

This answer seemed to satisfy Annabeth. She didn’t respond immediately. 

“Your mom,” Annabeth said. She’s changing the subject, cool. Ophelia’s not going to complain. “Did you know?”

Ophelia nodded. “Yeah. We have a…  _ strained _ relationship. We differ on parenting styles.”

This made Annabeth laugh. “Most of us have strained relationships with our godly parent. But I think you’re doing alright with her. She has a sense of humor.”

The compliment made Ophelia beam with pride. “She’s a good girl. Usually, she is still a toddler. She thoroughly enjoys embarrassing me in public.”

“Can you see through the Mist now?” Annabeth asked. Great, she was backtracking. Ophelia would have much preferred to gush about her daughter.

“Um, mostly. I still miss stuff sometimes.” 

“Listen," Annabeth began. "I get why you freaked out on Percy. It rehashed stuff for you. But give him a chance, okay? He’s a good guy. Being friendly with him is best for everyone.” She meant for Zita. Ophelia’s not stupid.

“Annabeth, I don’t trust any girl’s judgment of a man she’s banging.”

Annabeth flushed. “We should probably call it a night.”

“Yeah, it’s been a long day,” Ophelia replied.


	5. Hopeful Glimpse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im not dead? i just couldnt decide how i wanted this chapter to end. i finally figured it out. so here ya goooooo

_ **Hopeful Glimpse - Percy** _

The next morning, Percy sees Ophelia, for the first time, as a real girl. She looked like a real person, not a wild otherwordly entity causing havoc in his current chapter. She wasn’t in her work uniform, or shopping around for preschools, and she wasn’t boiling over in her pot of rage. Percy had been taking a shortcut through the outskirts of the strawberry fields. He heard Zita first. She was laughing, a full belly laugh. The laugh rang through the air, spreading a sense of peace over the fields. 

He turned trying to find the toddler. He saw Ophelia first. Her dark hair was split horizontally, the top half tied up in her infamous scrunchy the rest laid soft down her shoulders, choppy side swept bangs fell in her eyes. The pink sling was not wrapped around her, she had fashioned it into a belt, strung through the belt loops of her denim skirt and tied into a bow on her left hip. She had on a fresh orange Camp Half-Blood t-shirt but she’d cut it, a strip of skin showed at her midriff. She wore hoop earrings and a joyous grin on glossy lips. She looked more like a daughter of Aphrodite. 

At her side was not Zita, it was a boy. Skinner Manoharan, son of Dionysis. Now,  _ that _ was a troublemaker. He was known to…  _ get around _ . Percy tried to avoid him. He wasn’t the kind of person Percy would have made friends with. He was always up to no good. He just... rubbed him the wrong way. Seeing him with Ophelia made Percy clench his fists. 

He forced himself to let his fists go. He couldn’t be randomly protective of Ophelia Brokensha. That was stupid. She hated him. However, Percy decided he tends to be pretty stupid and went to confront Skinner.

Ophelia had trailed in the other direction. She hadn’t noticed him yet. She was calling out to Zita. Their giggles were the same, just on different octaves. They were playing a game of chase. 

Skinner was examining the strawberries. 

“What are you doing?” Percy accused him. He grit his teeth.

Skinner looked to him. He raised an eyebrow. Skinner was a lean, Indian boy. A little scruffy and rugged for a sixteen-year-old. He was a year-rounder, as far as Percy knew. He was the same height as Percy. 

“I was gonna steal a strawberry but I guess---”

“I meant with Ophelia.”

Skinner grinned. It was far from innocent. “Just being friendly, sir.”

Percy clenched his jaw. “Leave Ophelia Brokensha alone. She doesn’t need you adding to her teenage angst.”

“Aw, are you protective of your daddy’s lover?”

“Go to hell, Skinner.”

“Percy?” Ophelia said. Zita was on her hip now. “ _ Percy, _ ” She said again, through a tight jaw and gritted teeth.

Ophelia’s harsh tone made Skinner smirk. Percy’s jaw went tight.

“Percy.” Zita repeated.

“Can we talk?” Percy asked Ophelia.

“Uh,” 

Percy tugged her by the elbow. They left Skinner among the strawberries alone. Ophelia yanked her arm away from him. She glanced at the elbow he had touched like she had been told he was notorious for not washing his hands. Percy stopped them in the privacy of a few trees. “Don’t hang out with Skinner Manoharan.”

“Sikander?” She corrected him. “Why? And what makes you think you can tell me what to do?” Ophelia huffed.

“Whatever. He’s just bad news, Ophelia. Trust me.”

“I don’t trust you.”

Insufferable, she is. 

Percy groaned. “He doesn’t have good intentions.”

“Most boys don’t.”

“Ophelia, I swear--”

She opened her mouth to speak, she was probably going to spue aggressions again. Percy cut her off.

“Look, as much as this sucks, we have to get along. Zita’s---”

“Nothing to you. Not a damn thing, Percy Jackson.” Fire lit in her dark eyes. 

Now, Percy had something to compare her usual death glare to. He’d seen the lightness she was capable of, chasing her little girl in the strawberries. Every time they’d been face to face, all he’d gotten was her death glare. He had grown accustomed to the intensity of the electric blue of the Graces, he was fond of (with a healthy dash of fear, of course.) Annabeth’s stormy gray gaze, but something about Ophelia’s blue-black glower made him feel as though he should keep his hand on Riptide. 

Zita started to whine and slithered out of her mother’s arms, landing a little clumsily on the grass. 

Ophelia gasped. Her eyes glazed over, locked on his, and they watered instantly. The anger that had made her blue eyes seem black, vanished. There was no burning hatred in her glare anymore, it was replaced by despair and hopelessness. It was the same look she’d had the first time they met. The first fat tear fell down her cheek.

“Ophelia?” Percy said.

She fell to her knees, sobbing. 

“No! No! No!” She cried.

Zita ran back to her mother. “Bad! Bad! It’s okay, eema.” Zita touched her mother’s cheek. The touch seemed to have brought Ophelia back. She breathed in like she had just come back above water.

She stood up and dusted herself off. Her hands were still shaking, her cheeks were still flushed and tear stained. She picked up her daughter and turned away with nothing else to say.

“Ophelia,” Percy tried again.

“No,” Her voice broke.

_ **Hopeful Glimpse - Ophelia** _

Ophelia ran. She had forgotten about Sikander, leaving him in the strawberry fields to wonder why she’d vanished on him. She hoped to find Annabeth. She seemed like the only person who really just got it. She’d understood from the moment she’d heard of Zita’s claiming. She’d comprehended everything without any judgment. There had been sympathy in those big gray eyes. 

So had Sikander. How dare Percy Jackson tell her not to hang around with Sikander. She didn’t even know Percy as an actual person, just as the Glimpses she’d seen. She didn’t want to know him. He reminded her too much of Zita’s father, of Zita’s inevitable future, and the summer Ophelia lost herself. It was not his place to protect her. It was not his place to protect Zita, either. It was her duty, and her duty alone to protect Zita. His insinuation that Zita was something to him had made her insides burn. She could’ve spat lava. She’d wanted to rip him apart, limb from limb. How well that would have gone, Ophelia wasn’t sure. She wasn’t exactly a fighter, even if she was a bowling ball of red hot angst.

Zita clung to her, shouting. “Eema! Eemama!”

The sound of her worried little voice made Ophelia stop. “Zita Pita,” She breathed out.

“You’re sad?” Zita asked. She wasn’t even two yet, the only emotions she had mastered were happy and sad. 

Ophelia’s heart shattered. Her poor daughter had seen her mother fall apart so much recently. She felt like a shitty mother. It was her job to worry and protect, not her toddler’s. “No. I mean, yes, Pita. Eema is sad, but that’s okay. Everyone feels sad sometimes.”

The toddler considered that. “Why?” She finally asked. It was an empty question, Ophelia knew that. She wouldn’t understand the why yet. Nonetheless, Ophelia did her best to explain complex things to her over observant toddler.

“That’s part of being human. We get big feelings. We can’t always control them, we just have to feel them.”

Ophelia wasn’t sure how much Zita genuinely understood, but she nodded. “Okay.” 

Ophelia walked now. Her daughter had calmed her, but she hadn’t forgotten the Glimpse she’d gotten from those despicable green eyes. She had been so irate with Percy, she had barely noticed her daughter wriggle to the ground. She was no longer under her daughter’s curse, and the Glimpse had taken over. 

It was Sally Jackson again. She was cradling an itty bitty baby Percy. He was fresh, still pink and purple, his dark hair coated in vernix. He was wrapped in the hospital standard pink and blue blanket. Sally was sweaty, but smiling at him. 

Ophelia knew that exact feeling. It was in that golden hour that shifted your whole view of the world. The pain radiates everywhere, everything aches but none of the physical pain matters, because your heart growing ten times the size it was is so much more painful. Experiencing a love so fiery, fierce, and deep never dulls. The scars and tearing will mend, your blood will replenish, your sores will subside, but your heart is never the same. Your heart will forever ache.

Sally cried, she kissed the baby boy all over his sweet little face. Ophelia could almost smell him. (if you’ve ever smelled a newborn, you know.) 

The scene shifted, zoomed out. Ophelia was in a parallel, holding newborn baby Zita. She leaned in and planted a kiss on her newborn’s head. She smelled just the way Ophelia remembered, fresh and sweet. Her hair had been lighter when she was born. She smoothed the hair down with light fingers. The Glimpse was a parallel scene of Sally Jackson and Ophelia Brokensha, mothers of the children of Poseidon. They looked so similar, side by side in hospital beds. Sally was younger than her present age, but she had a wise aura about her that Ophelia would never have. Ophelia looked like a child, like the baby should’ve been a sibling. They both looked like they had been through hell, splattered with blood, eyes dark from lack of sleep, hair wet with sweat and tears. 

A flame flickered far off in the scene, distant and looming. The mothers didn’t notice, relishing their new babies. The smell of smoke traveled, darkening the scene. Soon, the flames had traveled across the expanse and was inching closer to the mothers and babies. The world crackled and crumbled, burning and peeling away. The mothers pulled their children close. The babies cried. So did the mothers. They begged, pleaded for their children's lives, for peace. They both knew that would never happen. Their children’s fates had been sealed the moment they took their first breath. They were claimed and branded by the world of gods and monsters, written in blood into the webs of prophecies and fate, before their mothers even held them. The tiny infants were ripped from their crying mothers, no particular figure or entity taking the force of the kidnapper.

It was the first Glimpse Ophelia had ever gotten that was a vision, an omen. They were always memories or summaries of a near distant future, things that were tangible. And always about the other person’s mother. (Again, there’s a lot you can learn about someone by learning about their mother.)

Ophelia always learned what she needed to know from her Glimpses, and that was all. It was a need to know basis, only. For whatever reason, the terrifying parallel had been a need to know. There were too many interpretations she could make of it, it made Ophelia’s head spin. 

Ophelia breathed. She counted. She hummed to her daughter. She tried her very best to soothe herself. She walked hand in hand with her toddler. She tightened her grip on her daughter’s soft baby hand as one last stray tear trailed hot down her cheek. 

“‘Phelia, you okay?” Annabeth asked.

Ophelia stopped dead in her tracks. She just about fell face first into her. She was about as tall as she was, which was refreshing but a bit intimidating. Ophelia was used to being the tallest girl in a room. Ophelia met her deep grey eyes and was immediately thankful for her tight grip on her daughter. She could feel the blush spreading on her cheeks as she stood so close to the intimidating young woman. She sidestepped. Who knows what Glimpse she would’ve gotten from a daughter of Athena. Children of goddess always had such terrible mommy issues that manifested into unpleasant Glimpses. 

Ophelia cleared her throat. She didn’t want her sobs to still be tangled in her words. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” She thought it passed off pretty well.

“Percy did send me this time.” Annabeth said.

Ophelia groaned. “I’m getting super sick of him,”

Annabeth flashed a half smile. “You’re not the first and certainly won’t be the last.” 

Ophelia looked away. 

“What happened?” Annabeth asked softly.

Ophelia shrugged.

“Ophelia, it’s alright. You saw something.”

Ophelia nodded.

Annabeth waited.

“The only power I got from my mother is… Glimpses of Motherhood. It usually only happens with people of godly descent. When I look into their eyes, I get a Glimpse into well, motherhood. Sometimes it’s their mother, their grandmother, an aunt. Whoever their mother figure was. Sometimes, I see their future children.” Ophelia blushed, remembering her quick Glimpse of Annabeth. “It’s usually just a second, a Glimpse, only what I need to know.”

“Everytime you look at someone?”

“The first Glimpse is always the most important, all the others after that are usually fillers. Zita keeps me from having them all the time. When we’re touching---”

“The curse. Percy and I overheard you and Chiron.” This time Annabeth turned pink.

Ophelia nodded. “Yeah. The curse.”

“Care to elaborate?”

Ophelia glanced over her shoulder. “I’m really not supposed to. You never know who’s listening.”

Annabeth looked puzzled. It brought a twinge of satisfaction to Ophelia. “But it’s a curse shouldn’t it be---”

“No,” Ophelia said. “It’s good for both of us. It’s a double-edged sword, but it benefits us both in the end.”

“Where did it come from?” Annabeth asked. There was another question, an addition, on her lips, but Ophelia cut her off.

“Annabeth, really, I’m not supposed to talk about it.” Ophelia told her, a bit sterner.

Annabeth didn’t take well to being told off, her brow furrowed. She crossed her arms.

“Annabeth, it’s nothing against you. It’s just---” Ophelia bit the inside of her cheek. “It was a lot of trouble to cast the curse, I can’t risk anyone knowing about it.” Ophelia glanced around again. Her voice lowered, she leaned into Annabeth. “Trying to replicate it. Or destroy it.”

Annabeth’s look softened. She dropped her arms. “Oh. It’s very powerful then?”

Ophelia nodded. “All that matters is it keeps Zita safe.”

“You’re not going to expand on that either, are you?” Annabeth asked, there’s a playful lilt in her voice.

Ophelia snickered, shaking her head. “No.”

Annabeth and Ophelia walked in peaceful silence, back towards the hub of camp. Hand in hand, Zita skipped next to her mother.

“Can I ask you something kinda personal?” Annabeth chewed her bottom lip.

The question made alarm bells go off in Ophelia’s head. Those kinds of questions are social death traps. You can’t say no, even if you really really want to.

“Uh, sure?” Ophelia tried to put the unspoken  _ no, _ in her jumbled speech.

“What was it like? Having a baby? Your mom--- do you think it changed---”

It was a loaded question, but not one Ophelia hadn’t gotten before. She usually got the question from other teenagers. Hardly ever older women. Other teenagers ogled at the idea of having a child. 

Ophelia simply shrugged. “I don’t know if my mom made the pregnancy any different. It seemed pretty typical to me. Cooked her for nine months, gave birth to her the old fashion way. Tore the shit out of my vagina. Okay, really, it wasn’t that bad of a tear. But any tear down there is no fun.”

Annabeth’s ears had turned pink, but she laughed. 

“Honestly, the worst part of it was how I got treated. I felt like a grotesque sideshow. My friends all bailed, teachers who had once liked me gave me dirty looks, my family---” Ophelia choked--disowned me. Ophelia stopped herself.

Annabeth seemed to get the gist. Annabeth’s hand gingerly touched Ophelia’s forearm. She gave her a soft, solemn look of understanding. Ophelia let go of Zita’s hand. This was a need to know moment. Ophelia hoped she wouldn’t regret it.

The Glimpse took her to Annabeth’s childhood home. She just knew that’s where she was, she wasn’t sure where exactly, but she knew this was a house of horrors for Annabeth. Something about spiders? In a matter of seconds, Ophelia got a summary of the cruelty Annabeth had suffered at the hands of her step-mother. Her heart ached for Annabeth. The fact that this was a need to know meant that nevertheless, Annabeth saw her as a mother figure. The feelings changed quickly, however, the hostility, guilt, and abandonment changed to contentment, resolution, and hope. Things are better now, Ophelia decided. The Glimpse ended, with no distinct memory sticking.

Ophelia could tell that Annabeth knew what she had done. She was looking at her with wild eyes.

“What did you see?” 

“I’m sorry,” Ophelia wanted to back pedal, to take it back. Glimpses were so violating. 

“What did you see, Ophelia?” Annabeth asked again, stronger.

“Nothing specific. The Glimpse was about your step-mother. I-I felt everything you’ve ever felt about her.”

“What do you mean,  _ nothing specific _ ?” Annabeth stood taller.

“Glimpses aren't always, like, a distinct memory. Sometimes they’re emotions, leftover feelings. Sometimes they’re a quick look into the future. Sometimes they’re so jumbled and confusing I get no real details. Sometimes they’re visions. I have no control over them.”

This answer seemed to satisfy Annabeth. Her stance cooled, but she still seemed uneasy. 

“It’s not the first Glimpse I’ve gotten of you,” Ophelia breathed. She could feel her cheeks heat up again, confessing to Annabeth. It might have seemed pointless to tell her, but Ophelia didn’t want to leave out the whole truth. Ophelia was a lot of things, but Ophelia was not a liar.

“What?”

“The first night, at the campfire,”

“What did you see? I didn’t even see you.” Annabeth’s eyes were wide again. 

“You didn’t need to. I saw you. It only takes half a second.” Ophelia paused. She swallowed. “I saw a Glimpse of your future.”

This made Annabeth suck in, like all the air had been punched out of her.

“It was short, no important details, really. You were a mother.”

Annabeth opened her mouth to speak. Ophelia spoke first.

“You’ll get peace, eventually. The kid’s cute, too. Green eyed.”

That was the answer Annabeth was looking for. She turned red like a strawberry. She rubbed at her shoulder. 

Ophelia realized why this was a need to know. Annabeth knew what it felt like to be abandoned and disowned. Annabeth was truly empathetic to Ophelia. Maybe she could one day have what Annabeth had now: contentment, resolution,  _ hope _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope u enjoyed another episode of Ophelia Is a Jackass! see yall next time!


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